The Demon Who Lives Upstairs
by RosemaryBagels
Summary: England has been behaving oddly and France wants to know why. When England colapses at a world meeting with a high fever, France figures that this is the perfect opportuninty to work his way back into his rival's life. But what he finds might be a bit more than he can handle... PruFrUK in the future, but pairings subject to change.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello! Welcome to my creepy messed up mind. Yes I know there isn't any M rated material in this chapter, but this fic will get dark, so I wanted to give a heads up. Prepare to meet a brain child inspired by a few episodes of Hoarders I saw on my vacation of Florida. Not sure how often this is going to be updated, as I have a few other prodjects underway that will be posted as soon as I can get them done. But I will get to the end of this at some point, so stick with it!**

**Mistakes are my fault, but do not blame me!**

**And if the page breaks don't work, I am going to kill someone.**

Something was not right with England.

At first, France had laughed to himself about the possibility of something being wrong with his rival, but the more he looked, the more he noticed.

Sure, England had always been thin, but was he loosing more weight recently? Had his skin always been that pale? If France really thought about it, England had been closing himself off lately. Saying less in meetings, staring more at his shoes that at other people, and, worst of all, refusing to go drinking.

If that wasn't bad enough, he had recently developed this watery cough that sounded horrible and made France cringe every time he heard it.

Of course France was worried. He couldn't just walk up to England and ask what was wrong though. He wanted to though, but England's glare just seemed a little more defensive than usual. He seemed almost like a rabbit put on edge, quivering and just waiting for the danger to present itself so he could run as fast as humanly possible.

France did not want England to run. As long as it didn't really seem like anything was really wrong, France was simply stuck in the half agony of watching England from a distance, wondering.

Wondering.

But every time he saw England he seemed to be getting worse. Bags appeared under his eyes. The next meeting America pronounced a grand total of twenty seven words wrong, and England didn't bother to correct him. He forgot his speech at one meeting, and arrived late at the next. France gave him a teasing grope to the ass and England didn't so much as blink.

France was almost tearing his hair out in panic now. Even when he was deliberately trying to pick a fight with him, England barely responded.

This was not good. This was not good at all.

"Allemagne, can I speak with you?"

"Ah, France. I noticed you weren't paying much attention. Do you want a second copy of the notes on the proposed trade agreement?"

"No, that wasn't it, exactly."

"Well, what is it, exactly?" France sighed, deciding to take the direct approach.

"I'm worried about England." Germany sighed, sort of expecting something like this, although not from France.

"I'm sure he's just got a bad cold, France. And I know he wouldn't appreciate you sticking your nose in his business. Just wait and he'll get back on his feet in no time."

France just inhaled slowly, nodded and walked away.

In truth, Germany was a bit worried, but not for the same reasons. The economies of Europe were all closely linked, and if whatever was happening was affecting England this bad, what would happen when the others started feeling the effects?

France was surprised to find England still in the parking lot, surveying the rows of cars. He was swaying slightly on his feet, and France would have thought him drunk, if not for the fact that they had been in the same room for the last six hours.

"England, are you okay?"

The Brit turned slowly, swaying dangerously, his eyes unfocused and cheeks flushed, as if he had a fever.

"France, what are you-?" It was in that moment that the Brits legs gave out beneath him, and France leapt forwards to catch him before he hit the ground.

"Mon cher, are you sure your okay?"

"Mph. Just tired. I can drive, as soon as I find my car." France put a hand to England's forehead, but pulled back when he felt just how hot it was.

"Non, nononononooo, you are in no condition to drive, Angleterre. I will take you home."

"No, I'm fine," England paused to take a shaky breath, "I'll just go, and then you can wander off and do… whatever it is you usually do."

"Mon dieu, Angleterre, you can barely stand. There is no way you are going home alone."

England looked like he wanted to protest, but France firmly pulled him in the direction of his own car.

The green eyed man looked sullen as he sunk into the passenger seat, choosing to stare out the window, rather than acknowledge the worried looks that France was shooting him every once in a while.

"Still live in the same place?" France asked, without energy. England's replying, "yeah," was barely herd as the vehicle pulled out onto the road.

England was asleep by the time France reached his house. France walked around the car, opening the door and taking the Brit into his arms. He was shocked at how light the other man was.

England began to stir by the time France reached the door.

"Francis? What are you?" France swallowed hard. England must be really out of it, in order to be calling him by his human name again.

"It's okay, England. You're home." France jimmied open the door with one hand, and then pulled England inside.

He dropped the slowly awakening England onto a kitchen chair, and went to rummage through the freezer to find an ice pack, because the Brit was burning up, but when he opened the freezer door, it was empty. Curious, France opened the fridge. Nothing but the light that turns on when you open the door. The Frenchman turned to the cupboards, opening them in turn, finding nothing but a few odd objects, and a thick layer of dust.

The kettle was rusted on the inside.

A vaguely more awake England looked around, meeting France's eyes. He opened his mouth as if to question, but France silenced him with a, "hush, amour. I will be right back."

Francis walked among the halls he thought he used to know, but wasn't finding anything recognisable. Where were the pictures that used to line the walls? The once pristine paint was peeling in several places; cobwebs were building up on the ceiling.

France turned to the bathroom, only to find that the light didn't work. The master bedroom revealed only a sparse blanket and a mattress that was half ripped to shreds sitting in the middle of the floor. Was this where Arthur slept every night? Surely not, he had more pride than that.

But door after door lead to empty room after dust filled room, and the further he got into the house, the more he noticed a horrid stench, which soon threatened to take over his senses. He found the staircase leading to the second floor, and the banister was a little less dusty than the rest of the house, so France was going to investigate, when a loud thunk alerted him to England's presence. When the shorter man caught sight of France on the staircase his eyes became panicked, and he stretched out a hand.

"No, Francis, Don't!"

But it was too late. Francis had bolted up the staircase.

A panicked scream of, "ARTHUR!" rang out in the night, only seconds after.

"Damnit, Damnit, Damnit." Never had Francis ever thought he would be in a position like this. Desperately pacing his apartment with a blissfully asleep England, frantically wishing that America would just pick up his damn phone.

"Hi, you've reached the answering machine of the awesome Hero! I'm to busy to come to the phone right now so—" Francis ended the call with a growl, before running his hands through his hair. He had no idea what he was supposed to be doing here, all he knew was that he had to do something, and fast.

He hit redial.

Finally, Alfred picked up his damn phone.

"Geez, France, can't you tell when a guy is busy."

"Oh mon dieu, Alfred, thank goodness I got through to you."

"Yeah, geez, make it quick man, I've got things to do."

"Alfred, I need you to get on a plane and come to Europe, something's wrong with Arthur and—" Francis was cut off by the American's laughter.

"Oh come on, man. Best April fools ever! Something's wrong with Igs, I'll tell you what. He's got a stick up his ass. Thanks for the call man, I really needed a laugh."

And then he hung up.

Francis went into full overdrive panic mode. What could he do, he had no idea how to tackle this on his own, but Alfred seemed to be fuck all when it came to others wellbeing, what could he do?

He stared at his phone for another minute, before thumbing through his contacts, and finding someone else.

**A/N: Suspence! GASP! Who is France calling?**

**I haven't totally decided on pairings yet, so if there is something you want to see, let me know.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: All hail the magical power that is *drumroll please* a beta! All the credit for the non spelling mistakes goes to Sora Resi, so lets have a round of applause. Now read the damn chapter.**

Gilbert awoke to the sound of his phone ringing. Now normally he would be very glad to hear the awesome ringtone he had set, and secretly even happier that someone even bothered to call… but the problem was it was four in the fucking morning.

Gilbert's awesome dreams had been interrupted by some random asshole that wanted to speak to him at four in the fucking morning.

But after checking his caller ID, he realised it was just Francis, which might prove to be amusing. It was at least worth answering the phone, anyway.

"Hey Francis," Gilbert said a little groggily. The following response was a garble of English and French that went by so fast that Gilbert had to pull the phone away from his ear, just to double check that this was Francis he was talking to.

"Hey man, if you want me to understand whatever the hell it is you're saying I'm going to need you to slow it down and stick to one language." There was silence for a moment.

"Oh, I'm sorry Gilbert, only this thing happened and I don't know what to do and I'm panicking now—" Francis was talking so fast that Gilbert could barely understand him.

"What?"

"Well it's this thing with Arthur and he was acting weird, and then I found out and now I don't know if I should call his boss, or a therapist or—"

"Francis, calm down, you're scaring me now. Calm down, take a few breaths, and tell me what happened from the beginning."

"Alright. So, we were at this meeting. After it was over, I was in the parking lot and so was Arthur, but he didn't look okay. He had an extreme fever, and I didn't want him to drive so I took him to his house, but inside it was— I cannot even begin to— I just new I had to get him out. But I don't know what to do now, and America hung up on me and—"

"Where are you?" Gilbert was up and rummaging around for a relatively clean pair of pants. Francis sounded seriously freaked out, and even though England was not Gilbert's favourite person in the world, Gilbert couldn't exactly ignore this… whatever it was.

"Umm… You know I have the second apartment in London right?"

"And neither you nor England are in immediate danger, right?"

"Right."

"Yeah. Listen, Francis, I want you to do something for me. Take a drink of water, calm down, and try and get some sleep. I'll be there in a few hours."

"Mon dieu, Gil, thank you. I don't know what I would have—"

"Yeah, yeah. Save your grovelling for some point when I'm actually awake, 'kay? Right. Get some sleep, and don't die until I get there."

"A-Alright. See you."

Gilbert hung up, and then tossed his phone on his bed, growling in annoyance. He needed his sleep, damnit.

"This better be goddamn serious, else someone is going to die."

Gilbert stumbled up the stairs to Francis' apartment, cursing his lack of sleep in every language he knew. And the sunlight. He was in England, for fuck's sake, it should not be this sunny. He finally found the right apartment number after a bit of wandering around, and then knocked on the door.

There was a small crash, followed by a brief silence, and then scrambling footsteps. The door was thrown open by Francis, and Gilbert took a moment to take in the appearance of his friend. Francis' hair was messed, his clothes were rumpled, and his eyes were red from crying.

"Francis? Are you okay?"

"Oui," Francis pulled the door to his apartment open and stepped back to allow Gilbert to enter. "I'm fine."

"Gilbert stepped into Francis' slightly messier than usual apartment, setting down the bag of overnight things which he had grabbed in about ten minutes, before running out the door.

"So, what happened?" Gilbert whispered. Francis turned on his heels, leading Gilbert into the master bedroom, where Gilbert could see England, lying among the blankets. Gilbert was shocked by the appearance of the other nation. He looked like skin had been stretched over a skeleton. What overwhelmed him though, was that England usually had a larger than life presence, but now he just seemed… small. Like a breeze could push him over, and blow him away. England gave a watery cough in his sleep, and Gilbert turned to Francis with horror filled eyes.

"What happened to him?" Francis was trembling, and tears were threatening to form.

"I don't even… he was in meetings all the time and he was becoming frail, but I was scared of talking to him, but then I found him and his house, it was just," Francis was becoming more and more distressed, so Gilbert cut him off.

"Look, we don't have to talk about this if you are going to freak out. I imagine I'll see soon enough." Francis gave a nod, but still continued to shiver.

"What do we do now?" he whispered. England coughed again in his sleep, causing the two men to look over. Gilbert walked over to get a closer look, but then cursed at what he saw.

"Scheisse! First things first, we get him to a hospital."

England was coughing up blood.

The drive to the hospital was a tense one, with Gilbert jumping between trying to keep Francis calm, and panicking himself because he wasn't watching the road. Luckily Gilbert's lightning reflexes saved them from crashing into anything, but Francis' speech had dissolved to inane babbling in French, and Gilbert wasn't going to try and decipher it.

England hadn't woken throughout the incident, and Gilbert was wondering what was in his house which scared Francis so much.

When Gilbert walked into the hospital with a lifeless body, a man in white garb gave them a once over, before standing up and walking over. He took England's pulse with his wrist, before calling some nurses, who quickly whisked the unconscious man away, causing Francis to burst into tears anew.

"Either of you, do you know what happened?" Gilbert could vaguely make out that Francis was whispering "why him, oh god, why him?" in the background. Gilbert swallowed hard, knowing that he had to step up here.

"His name is Arthur Kirkland," Gilbert tried to keep his voice from shaking, and was silently thanking god that Ludwig had made him memorise every countries human name. "He… I don't know him very well, but Francis does… did… I got a call last night, Francis was in hysterics. He had taken Arthur to his apartment, and was babbling about something upstairs in Arthur's house. I don't know what was going on, but Arthur's been unconscious for a few hours, and he was coughing up blood, so I thought we should bring him here." The man nodded.

"Alright. That should help." The man then jogged off in the direction Arthur had been taken.

"He's going to die, he's going to die, he's going to die..." Francis was rocking back on his heels, whispering the words like a mantra. Gilbert turned around, and promptly slapped him the face.

"What the hell are you doing? Would you listen to yourself? Arthur is here, in the hospital, in danger, and all you can do is just sit there? He needs you, dammit!" Francis curled in on himself, and Gilbert felt slightly guilty for yelling at his friend. "Hey, hey, shh okay? Arthur's fine, he's not going to die."

"Something's horribly wrong Gilbert," Francis whispered, "Something we didn't notice. Why didn't we notice?"

"I don't know, but I need you to do something for me, okay?" Blue eyes hesitantly met red. "I need you to be strong for me, okay? Now I'm going to go to Arthur's house, and find out what the hell is going on, and I need you to stay here and watch over Arthur, okay?"

Francis swallowed hard, but nodded.

"Alright." Gilbert turned to leave, but Francis grabbed his sleeve. The Prussian turned around to meet his friend's eyes.

"Bring a gas mask."

**A/N: Mwahahahahaaaaa. Yeah I know, we sill don't know what is in Arthur's house. So far I've heard dead bodies, and actual demons (Ya know, the satanic creature?) which is wrong on both accounts. The dramatic reveal will happen next chapter, but untill then, let me know what you think. If you guess correctly, I may just write you a oneshot... haven't decided yet, but if someone suggests something brilliant I will probably end up writing it.**

**And on a different note, I've introduced the other pivital character in this story. So say hello to Mature!Gilbert. Yeah, he is actually going to be the "mature" guy in this story. I'm crazy.**

**Anyways, the question I should have asked last chapter, but didn't because I didn't want to give away who Francis was calling, do you guys want FrUK? or FrPruUK?**

**I know what I would rather write, but I want some reader feedback on this.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: It's here.**

Gilbert grumbled as he walked up the path to Arthur's house. He really was not looking forward to this. Arthur was relying on him; Francis was relying on him, hell even the doctors at the hospital were relying on him to find out what was going on. Gilbert really didn't want to let them down, but whatever was in this house had scared Francis shitless. Francis got scared, this Gilbert knew very well... but he had never seen his long time friend quite so scared in this way.

He was awesome. He just had to keep reminding himself of this fact, and then he could face whatever this house had in store for him.

But admittedly it was not the nicest looking house. It looked just a little bit faded, a little bit too close to run down. Had it been a stranger's house Gilbert would have just assumed that whoever lived there was lazy, or tight on money, and didn't redo the paintjob, or mow the lawn as often as others. But given the fact that this was Arthur's house – the man who complained if his tea wasn't steeped enough— Gilbert was a little unsettled.

But despite his misgivings, Gilbert took a few steps forwards, up the path and into the house.

The house itself was deadly silent. Gilbert stepped delicately through the rooms, as if in a tomb, not wanting to touch anything in case he broke it. Not that there was much to break.

His steps echoed as he puzzled his way through the remains of the once great house. Houses had furniture right? That was a thing that normal people did, and Gilbert was fairly sure he wasn't wrong with that assumption, so what the hell was going on with Arthur? Why were his rooms so void of personal objects?

I was like there wasn't anyone even living in the house anymore… like it had been abandoned, but just hadn't fallen into disrepair yet.

This was a terrible condition to be living in, but Francis had said something about upstairs, so Gilbert searched for a staircase.

He turned a corner and was overwhelmed by a stench that just flooded his senses, and smelled worse than that time Gilbert had accidentally left the milk out for two weeks when his brother was away. And honestly, that had smelt pretty bad.

Gilbert raised the mask to his face, putting it on, and taking the smell as a sign that he was getting close to... whatever it was he was supposed to be finding.

It took a few more doors and another small hallway before Gilbert found what he was looking for. The lights in the hallway were flickering a bit, but Gilbert pushed forward anyway, brushing a cobweb off the railing, before taking a deep breath and mustering up the rest of his courage.

This was the point of no return, and Gilbert knew that when he went up there, there was no unseeing what he saw. There were so many things that could be up there that Gilbert didn't want to see: like dead bodies or satanic symbols, or paintings in blood on the walls. But there were people waiting for him, and he had other things he wanted to do today, like drinking a real cup of coffee, force feeding Francis, and asking Arthur what the hell was going on.

He walked up the staircase.

.

His first reaction was undoubtedly shock, followed by panic, followed by horror. But instead of running and fleeing the scene like Francis had done, Gilbert's fear rooted him to the spot leaving him unable to move. What the hell was this?

Gilbert gave a broken sort of laugh, as he realised he had found Arthur's furniture.

In haphazard stacks all over the room, mixed in with miscellaneous piles of books, clothes, his bed frame, a box of photos was scattered across the floor, and there piles and piles of boxes. Boxes that looked like they had once been stacked in rows but had toppled and fallen, leaving behind this shapeless and monstrous pile of just random objects, swelling and taking over the entire floor with just piles and piles of shit.

But that wasn't the worst of it. The worst was the food, or at least the remains of what Gilbert thought was food. That was why there was so much of a stench. The rotting of a few weeks' worth of groceries scattered amongst the remains of the room. The room was now a kaleidoscope of mould. The boxes looked spotted with the green growing up the sides, a half visible sofa was being eaten away by the white fuzz growing up the sides, and the remains of a bookshelf and all of it's contents were getting taken over by a black infection. There was a leak in the corner of the roof, further spreading the growth of mould and rust, which was slowly taking over the walls as well. Some parts of the room looked like they had been underwater, there was so much growth on them.

No self respecting person would let their living space fall into such a state of disarray, would they? Arthur was a self respecting person right? Or at least Gilbert thought he was. But as he stood among the dead mice and decaying furniture, is was obvious that there had been a horrible miscalculation.

This wasn't some problem that was going to go away any time soon. This couldn't be talked through with a cup of tea and fixed with a hug.

It was like a demon, huge and sprawling, slowly sucking away the life force of all those that tried to fight it. Gilbert was not a demon hunter. He would rather his enemies human so he could look into their faces and give them exactly what he though they deserved. But Arthur was being completely devoured by this demon's wrath, and he obviously couldn't fight alone.

No one could fight something like this alone.

Gilbert didn't know if he could fix things, but he knew he had to try.

If he ignored something like this, he would never forgive himself.

.

"So you say that there was a great deal of mould in the second story of his house?" Gilbert nodded mutely to the doctor sitting across from himself and Francis. The doctor, Gilbert had forgotten his name about three seconds after he had said it, sighed and pushed his glasses further up his nose.

"Look, I'm going to be honest with you two gentlemen. Arthur has inhaled a huge amount of mould, and some of it is trying to find a way to grow inside Arthur's body. Thus the coughing up blood, which is the body's way of trying to expel the invading particles. Usually a person's immune system would protect him from the brunt of this damage, but his immune system seems to be compromised, due to the fact that he is severely malnourished." Gilbert could feel Francis trembling beside him, so he reached over and took his friend's hand in his. Francis' fingers tightened around his own, in an almost vice like grip, and Gilbert let him, knowing that whatever was bad for him must be ten times worse for Francis. He had raised Arthur, after all.

"Arthur also shows signs of deliberate self harm and alcohol abuse, which leads me to believe he may be depressed as well. You both said you were close friends, were you aware of any of this before?"

"Well," Gilbert hesitates to answer, but Francis still seems frozen so he continues, "Arthur always had a drinking problem. But that was just overindulging whenever he had alcohol, and he valued his job, so he didn't do it that often. But as to being depressed or being a… I never knew."

"We were close once," Francis' voice was harsh with disuse, and his words are slow, but the doctor gives him his full attention, and Gilbert rubs soothing circles onto the back of his friend's hand. "I could see him falling apart from a distance, but he told me he was fine and I wanted so badly to believe him…" Francis gave up the fight against tears, pulling his hands from Gilbert's, in order to bury his face in both of his hands. Gilbert could feel the control of this situation quickly slipping away from him, which was bad because that would mean that he would feel all these emotions and cry, and he couldn't do that because he needed to be strong here. Francis was losing it, and Arthur was falling to pieces, so he had to hold it all together for them.

"This is going to be a long and hard recovery period for Arthur. And I know it is going to be trying on the both of you, but you are going to need to stick with him every step of the way, because he isn't going to be able to walk the path of recovery alone."

And Gilbert feels like he's been handed the last of the dragon eggs to look after, because if he makes one wrong move the entire thing will smash and be lost. But at the same time he knows that only he can coax the dragon egg to hatching, so no matter the risks, it is going to have to be damn worth it to try.

Francis nods, and says, "Always." Gilbert looks around the room slowly, before meeting the doctor's eyes.

"Like hell I'm leaving. I'm not that cruel." The doctor smiles just a little at this, a source of comfort in these dark times.

"So is it really possible to get him back? To the way he was before?" Francis' voice had this barely hopeful tone to it, which makes the doctor sigh again.

"There is no fixing exactly what he has gone through. And as to bringing him back I cannot be absolutely certain - every person is different, but we can try to get him to move forwards."

The doctor's words ring neither optimistic nor untruthful, with just enough hope that a person can cling to it whilst still leaving no room for doubt about the situation. Gilbert is debating between the urges of giving the man a pat on the back, or a hug.

Gilbert does neither though. Instead he builds up the courage to ask one final question.

"Can we see him?"

**A/N: I swear to god that if my page breaks don't work I will hit something, and if they do I will go back and add them in to the two previous chapters. Anyways, thanks for all the lovely reviews, they encouraged me to get this chapter done a bit faster than I would have otherwise.**

**So, was the dramatic reveal of Arthur's demon everything you thought it would be? I liked the creative idea of plauge from Rinzlerkitty94, and I may steal it and use it in another prodject later. Honestly, I thought I'd given it away when I said this story was inspired by hoarders...**

**Thank you KairacahraFlower Goddess! I am sooo glad I'm not the only one whose mid goes down that path, but I'm not making a final decision on pairings just yet. I have several ideas and I want to see how it plays out. I'm listing it as PruFrUK for now, but know that there may be some really weird pairing decisions, and there might be no pairings at all. I mean this is FrUK any way it goes down, but I may later find that smexy times interfear with the tone I am trying to set, so they might not be in this story. It's up in there air!**

**And in case you are wondering, I'm trying to pay more tribute to my readers, and also trying to review more stories, because being a silent internet viewer is a bad habit of mine...**

**Long Author's note it long!**

**Please give cookies to the awesome beta Sora Resi!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Alright. This is just the Beta'd version of chapter four. All hail Sora Resi! There are only a few changes, mostly gramatical ones, but I felt it was worth the notice because I don't know if people get a new notification when chapters are updated... But whatevs!**

Arthur, Gilbert concluded, looked worse for the wear. The hospital bed with the plain white sheets and the monitors that beeped, and the tubes looping between Arthur arms and various machines made him look… small.

Nations weren't usually small. Sure, they might have been shorter than other people, or geographically had less land, but if they were small physically then they were loud and rambunctious to compensate. If Gilbert was being honest with himself, then Arthur looked rather like a skeleton. His skin was too pale in some places, and yellowing in others, the contrast only made sharper by the plain white sheets. His fingernails were destroyed, his hair looked like it hadn't been washed in a week, and the bags under his eyes were the only place where he had any extra skin.

It made Gilbert want to curl up in a corner, cry, and punch someone in the face all at once.

"He's not going to wake up for a while," a nurse said, as she came in to change the rates on a few of the tubes. "I'd recommend the two of you go home, get some sleep, and then go over things tomorrow."

"I don't want to leave him," Francis whispered. "I don't want to leave him alone again."

"I know." Gilbert responded, and then turned so he could grip both of Francis' forearms. "I know you don't want to leave him, and I don't either, but we are no use to him falling asleep on our feet. We need to make a tactical retreat, go home and recuperate, and then come back, okay? Arthur will still be here when we get back."

Francis' shoulders slumped, but he resigned himself to the fate of Gilbert leading him home. The nurse gave them a tired smile as the two walked out slowly.

She reached out and brushed a lock of hair out of the sleeping man's face.

"You're lucky," she whispered, "There are lots of people who get in here looking like you do, and the people who come to pick them up don't care half as much as they do."

.

Francis awoke slowly, to find himself staring at the wall in his guest bedroom. He lay there as the memories slowly returned, and felt the sting of tears start to burn in the back of his eyes again.

He had known that something was wrong with Arthur. He had known, and done nothing. Why had he done nothing? He obviously was a terrible colleague, a failure of a friend and a guardian, he couldn't help those he cared about, and he was just… worthless.

A failure.

Maybe he should just go die.

"Francis? Are you awake?" Gilbert's voice roused the Frenchman from his depressing thoughts.

"I've made breakfast if you're hungry," the Prussian's voice echoed through the closed door of the room. "Or not, if you aren't hungry after… Anyways you should come out while the coffee is still hot." Gilbert paused for a moment, as if waiting to see if Francis would respond. When he didn't Gilbert retreated.

Francis took a moment to run a hand through his unusually tangled hair to mull over the predicament. Arthur was in the hospital… meaning that Francis had to call his boss. The blonde cringed inwardly at that prospect, with the knowledge that Arthur's boss already hated him. If Francis was very lucky it would only be a short screaming match.

And since he had no idea how long Arthur was going to be in the hospital, maybe he should call Scotland too, so he could replace the Brit in meetings.

Francis felt the flower of despair growing in his heart grow a little bit more with the prospect of giving Arthur's brothers the bad news. He didn't want any of this! He just wanted to crawl into a small closet and never leave. He didn't want to be responsible for something as important as…

As what?

Francis took a moment to calm his breathing. If the Frenchman had a list of things that were important to him - not just things he liked, but things that really meant something to him - then Arthur was pretty damn close to the top of that list. The only thing that might have challenged that is the memory of Jeanne, but of those two people one of them was dead and the other was… saveable. Still here with a beating heart and breath in his lungs.

God, what kind of a coward was he? Arthur was in a moment of weakness, where he needed to rely on other people to help him through this, and Francis wanted to ignore it? As if running away would make the problem go away! Arthur needed him, dammit!

Francis threw off the covers and began rummaging around for his mobile phone. He had some calls to make.

.

Gilbert was pulled from his pensive staring into his cup of coffee by the rustle of movement from Francis' room. He stood to see if he could coax Francis into eating, but stopped by the door when he heard voices.

"Yes it's Francis. Bonnefoy."

"I'm France, sir."

"I'm calling on the behalf of Arthur Kirkland."

Ahh, so Francis was on the phone, most likely talking to Arthur's boss.

"What? No!"

"I didn't do anything!"

"No, I'm in London."

"He's in the hospital because—"

"Well, malnutrition for one thing. Possible alcohol poisoning as well. The doctors suspect depression and—"

"He's your fucking country, why wouldn't you care about what's happening to him!"

Gilbert held his breath as Francis' voice slowly got darker before exploding. The albino cringed; even Ludwig's stick up the ass of a boss still cared about his representative's well being.

"Yes I know that what happens to a representative doesn't affect the politics of a country but you should still—"

"Fuck you! No way in hell am I letting you anywhere near him. I will deal with this "little problem", as you put it."

"No, I will call Scotland and have him fill in any duties Arthur will be missing."

"Then so help me I will go over there and do them myself!"

"I don't give a fuck about what my boss thinks!"

"Yes!"

"Fine."

"Fine!"

"Good day to you too sir," Francis' voice was laced with sarcasm. "Say hello to the queen for me." There was a pause where Francis must have hung up the phone, and then the door was flung open.

Gilbert froze, trying to come up with some excuse as to why he was outside the door that didn't include eavesdropping, preferably before Francis turned his anger on the only other person in the apartment. Fortunately, Francis seemed to almost expect Gilbert to be there and simply gave him a once over before pushing past him to the kitchen. He surveyed the sausages and eggs, which was about the extent of everything he could cook, before helping himself and sitting down at the table.

Gilbert entered the kitchen slowly, as if his friend might suddenly snap at him, but when he didn't the albino felt relieved enough to grab his cup of coffee and sit opposite the Frenchman, wondering if he should being up what he had overheard, or if it was best to let the blonde sift through his thoughts in silence. Francis ended up making the choice for him.

"Asshole," was his opening comment. Gilbert let out a dry chuckle.

"That's not very nice."

"Yeah well, I'm not feeling very 'nice'." There was silence at the table for a moment.

"Well the good news," Francis began, "Is that Arthur is in our care."

"And the bad news?" Gilbert hesitated to ask.

"We're on our own. There will be no help from the British government whatsoever. Not even a get well soon."

"Harsh."

"Yeah. Asshole."

Gilbert briefly considered asking Francis about further details, when it occurred to him that he didn't exactly want to know his friend's position on English Government.

**A/N: Just to say random stuff I didn't before, a friend and I were poking around on youtube, when we realised the first two episodes of Beautiful World were up, and we fangirled like crazy. My parents were disturbed as to the fact that my friend was literally rolling around on the floor, and I was screaming OMG for about a full hour afterwards.**

**Also, Romania is cute.**

**On a completely different note, where I live the april we just had is officially the coldest april in 100 years. Ugh.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Give thanks to the awesome beta Sora Resi! :)**

The twin sets of footsteps echoed through the corridors as Gilbert and Francis walked back into the hospital. It took a little bit of navigation, but eventually the two of them managed to find Arthur's room again.

Gilbert was inwardly grimacing. He hated hospitals. They smelled weird, served crap food, and were filled with people who wouldn't tell you the time of day. He had spent numerous nights in them after doing something stupid, but that was different because he knew when the daylight came back, Ludwig would be there. Sure it would be with a scowl on his face, going hand with a face palm when he found out whatever Gilbert was actually doing, and then a lecture about how it was a bad idea. But Gilbert never really minded, because no matter what he did, Ludwig would always be there for him.

Gilbert wondered how many times Arthur had come here with the knowledge that no one would be there with him when he awoke.

Francis, on the other hand, felt his world shrink as he stepped into the desolate hospital room. The background noise of the busy building fell away leaving just him, the unmoving body, and the rhythmic beeps of the machines Arthur had attached to him. Francis reached over and brushed away an errant strand of hair, watching as the Briton's chest rose and fell. He clung desperately to those repeating sounds, because they meant that Arthur was still alive. That he was still fighting, in some way or another. That he could be saved.

Francis could only hope that he hadn't been too late.

.

When the doctor entered the room, Gilbert's heads snapped up sharply, meeting his eyes and slowly standing up. Francis stayed where he was, with his eyes on Arthur, but he was paying attention.

"How is he?" Gilbert asked, not bothering to hide the concern in his voice.

"His condition is stable. He is expected to wake up shortly, but where we will go from there is a completely different matter." The doctor closed the door behind him, taking the chair opposite Gilbert in order to address him directly. "I assume you are aware of Arthur's… unusual condition?"

"You mean that he is a nation representative?" Gilbert asked.

"Exactly that. If he were just a normal person, I would recommend that he stay within hospital care for at least a month to gain his body weight back, but I've come to understand that nations are tougher than that." Gilbert nodded in silent agreement.

"Whether or not he decides to remain in the hospital, he will need to consult a therapist."

"A therapist? Look, given our profession doc, it isn't really a good idea to go babbling about our problems to anyone, no matter how much training they might have. There are all kinds of terrorists who would pay a great deal to learn some of the things we know."

"I know," The doctor sighed, rubbing the side of his temple for a moment. "I know, but if he does not seek professional help it is likely that the conditions like (such as) his apparent anorexia won't be cured, or could escalate in magnitude."

"Fine." Gilbert muttered, "But I want to meet this "professional help" before he gets anywhere near Arthur."

"A perfectly reasonable demand… Gilbert wasn't it? I'll make sure that she can contact you. In any case, we will have to have a more in depth conversation about various treatment options once Arthur wakes."

"Alright." Gilbert sighed, running a hand through his hair. The doctor stood up, and left the room. Once gone, Gilbert stood up and moved beside Francis.

"Do you think he's going to be okay?" Francis whispered.

"I hope so. I really, really hope so."

.

There was someone screaming somewhere, and Arthur was really just wishing they would shut up. He would have said something, but his mouth wasn't moving quite right. His arms were made of lead, but he was fine. He was just fine and dandy. Then there were more panicked voices and someone seemed to be asking if he was okay, and he would have just sat up and told them he was fine, just give him a minute, but his body still wasn't responding, and everything was fuzzy. It even sounded like he was underwater.

The voices grew more distant, but there was a single voice that was piercing his memory. It was only a word, a single name, and yet that scream was so terrifying. Even in the dream, the emotions the voice aroused made Arthur tremble violently similar.

He knew that voice.

His muddled brain couldn't make out who it was or where he knew it from, but he did.

And it sounded… so sad.

Agony. Like nails on a chalkboard, except coming from a soul. It was a wail. A prayer thrust out into the night, hoping that some otherworldly spirit would hear it and come and help the mortals down below.

It was wrong.

The voice shouldn't be sad. That voice was smiles and laughter, light tones and playfulness. That voice shouldn't be sad.

That voice was…

That voice was…

Francis.

.

When Arthur began to open his eyes, Francis waited with baited breath. He realised now that it was a bit too late to worry about what he was going to say when the Brit finally opened his eyes, but he still in that moment he managed to feel a mix of panic and anticipation.

Arthur opened his eyes. He looked around briefly, before his gaze settled on Francis, Gilbert having stepped back a bit to let the two have some privacy. He blinked once or twice, as if trying to discern exactly what he was seeing, before his eyes widened in panic.

Gilbert flinched when there was a huge crash as Arthur launched himself off the bed away from Francis, his fight or flight instinct spiking through the roof. He tried to flee the small space, but as it was a hospital and Gilbert was blocking his only exit, he succeeded only in knocking over a table, and yanking out one of the tubes imbedded in his skin. He pushed over a chair and then managed to curl into a small ball in the corner, facing the wall and cradling his injured hand.

"Arthur?" Francis' question was hesitant, as he quietly approached the trembling man. He went to lay a hand on his shoulder but Arthur screeched, "Don't touch me!" and Francis recoiled immediately.

"Okay, okay. No touching. Just calm down, and tell me what's wrong." At the mention of calming down, Gilbert noted, Arthur seemed only to panic more. He curled in on himself further - if that was even possible - and started banging his uninjured hand against the wall.

"What do you want, you stupid frog? Come to humiliate me even more now that I've finally snapped?"

A nurse who'd heard the commotion came running and took one look at the state of the room before yelling, "Somebody call security!"

"Arthur, I—"

"Yeah cause that's all the French ever want to do. Kick a man while he's down."

"Arthur! I don't want to hurt you," Francis approached again, "I'm trying to help!"

"GET AWAY!" Gilbert was floored with shock when Arthur suddenly spun around and leapt, lashing out at Francis and giving him a small cut on his cheek with a his jagged fingernails.

"Get away, get away! GET AWAY!"

The two nations stood there, petrified, as several security guards ran into the room, wrestled a still screaming Arthur back onto his bed, and injected a sedative. They stood there as the nurses rushed in, righting chairs and upset machinery. They stood as they cleaned and banged the new wound on Arthur's hand, and Francis didn't even flinch when antiseptic was applied to the cut on his face.

Gilbert was thinking about how Arthur had responded like a wounded predator. One who tried to retreat to its den and, when continually poked with a stick, eventually lashed out. Predators do that when they are afraid, Gilbert realised. Something about Francis absolutely terrified Arthur.

Francis was simply terrified. He had on only one occasion before seen such a look of utter terror in Arthur's eyes…

When London was burning to the ground.

**A/N: Now, let it be said that I do not do any kind of historical reaserch for any fanficions ever. With that in mind, if I do know of a perticular historical event, I will include it in whatever I feel like.**

**I could have updated this a bit earlier, but I've recently gotten a bug that's circling around in my school right now, and was therefor incredibly sick and lazy and just left the beta'd document open on my desktop while I watched anime. (07-ghost is AWESOME!)**

**So yeah, have an update.**


	6. Chapter 6

** A/N: Have an update!**

**Thanks to the awesome Beta Sora Resi!**

.

As much as the encounter with Arthur scared Francis, he was still determined to stay by his side. Gilbert was shooting him concerned looks, as if he might break at some imminent moment, but the Frenchman was actually quite calm.

Well, as calm as he could be considering the circumstances.

At least Francis had a basic idea of what had been going on in Arthur's head. He had lashed out because he felt scared and helpless. That could have easily have been caused by the smallness of the room, the bright lights, and the lack of visible exits. Maybe if, when he awoke again, he awoke in a different environment he would be… calmer.

That was actually a pretty good idea.

"Gilbert…" Francis broke the silence. The man looked away from the wall where his gaze was trying to bore a hole, indicating that he was paying attention. "What do think made Arthur so…" Francis trailed off, not needing to finish his sentence. Gilbert took a few breaths to ponder the question.

"Well, it could be a variety of things. It could have been the remnants of whatever he was thinking when he first fell asleep. We obviously can't rule out that our memories are often traumatic and we have no idea what he could have been dreaming of. But if I was being entirely honest I would say…" He cast Francis a concerned look, "You."

Francis took a moment to digest that information. They had a lot of bad blood between them, so it was possible that the sight of him could have scared his rival if he felt weak.

"I was just thinking."

"Don't hurt yourself." Gilbert responded instantly. Francis glared at him for a moment.

"Take a look at this room. What do you see?" Gilbert looked around.

"White walls, white floor, white ceiling, uncomfortable chairs, boring magazines, a too loud clock and hellofa lot of not much else, making this one of the dullest rooms I've ever had to spend a large amount of time in."

"It's small. One exit. No place to hide." Gilbert suddenly understood.

"You think he felt trapped." Francis nodded. Gilbert considered it. It was actually a good theory.

"I think…" Francis hesitated. "If Arthur woke up in an environment where he felt that he could leave at any time, that he might be more tempted to stick around?"

Gilbert thought for a moment. If Arthur was truly trying to get away from Francis then it wouldn't help at all. However if Arthur was just terrified, then having the bonus of an exit, a bolt hole as it were, would probably make him more comfortable… Either way it would be a good idea to learn exactly what predicament they were faced with early on.

"It's worth a shot."

The pair went to go find the doctor to converse with him about their theory.

.

When Arthur awoke for the second time, it was much slower than the first had been.

Francis and Gilbert had managed to rope one of the nurses into letting them use a sort of side meeting room at the end of the hallway. The two had situated themselves closer to Arthur than the door was, but they were on the other side of him and had triple checked to ensure that the exit was not blocked by any of the chairs that were scattered around the room.

When Arthur's eyes started to flutter, Gilbert and Francis stayed where they were, as they wanted to be a respectful distance away when the man awoke.

When he finally did, it was with much less fanfare than before. He rubbed a hand over his face, as if trying to connect where he was before to how he got where he was, before slowly sitting up.

He visibly flinched when he saw the other nations in the room, and Gilbert was scared that this was a pointless exercise, but when his gaze flashed around the room, focusing on the door left ajar for a moment before looking back at the other two nations, Gilbert realised Francis was right. Arthur still looked visibly uncomfortable, and his eyes were shifting focus faster than they should be, but he wasn't bolting.

Not yet, at least.

"Where am I?" His voice was rough. Gilbert shot Francis a look, before answering the question.

"A hospital. This is a side room. What do you remember about what happened before?"

Gilbert watched with apprehension as confusion overtook Arthur's face, but the Englishman kept his breathing under control, and focused on the question as if it were some bizarre form of life line.

"There was a meeting, I felt weird, I went to the parking lot and France was there and then… I don't know. What happened?"

"You collapsed at the meeting," Francis whispered. "I was going to take you home but…" Neither Gilbert nor Francis missed the look of panic on Arthur's face at that prospect. Obviously it was a bad time to mention that the both of them had seen the worst of Arthur's house.

"But?" Arthur's voice was pleading, desperate.

"I thought it was better that seek out medical attention."

"Why? What had happened that you thought I would possibly need help from you?" Things were getting heated quickly, and Gilbert knew he had to shift the focus of this conversation otherwise things were going to get ugly. He raised a hand to silence his friend, before addressing the Englishman.

"To be fair England… you were coughing up blood." Gilbert watched as Arthur's anger melted instantly, and he seemed to retreat into himself. This wasn't exactly what Gilbert wanted, but it was better than him bolting.

"I was what?" His voice was soft.

"Coughing up blood. Francis here completely panicked and had no idea what to do," Gilbert felt mildly pleased when a weak smirk appeared on Arthur's face for a moment, "after which he called me a three in the fucking morning, I screamed at him to get you here before hopping on a train and heading over myself, because Francis was in complete panic mode and I didn't trust him not to crash a car into a pole and die."

As much as he knew that telling Arthur of Francis' panic wouldn't sit that well with the Frenchman, this story seemed to calm the Brit a bit, though whether it was because Francis had a weak moment or because it justified Gilbert's presence as impersonal, Gilbert couldn't be entirely certain.

"Oh." Arthur was looking down at his hands and looked almost… guilty? What did he have to be guilty for? Arthur slowly looked up again making eye contact with Francis. "You've got a…" he gestured to the cut on Francis' face.

"Oh," Francis reached up to touch the mark. He'd forgotten he had it. "Yeah."

"I did that, didn't I?" Arthur's voice was quiet.

"Do you remember doing it?"

"Not exactly but…" Arthur shrugged. "Did I?" Francis nodded slowly. Arthur looked down at his hands, that guilty look back on his face. "Sorry."

Francis nearly fell out of his chair. Arthur was apologising? Arthur didn't apologise, he justified his actions by claiming that France the perverted frog obviously deserved it. And he didn't even remember doing it! Whatever was wrong with Arthur it must be pretty damn serious, and for a glaring moment Francis wished that there was someone responsible so that he could go punch them in the face.

"Alright," Arthur still had that guilty look on his face, but his voice had gained some confidence. "Thanks for bringing me here, but I'm fine now. You two can go back to picking up girls in clubs or whatever you were doing before I interfered."

Gilbert and Francis shared a look. This was going to be a challenge, and it was only the beginning.

.

**A/N: And wow... This chapter really did not want to get written, but here it is. It is slightly less angst-festy than the others, but there is plenty more angst fest on the way so... Yay? Does that deserve a yay?**

**Anyways, for those of you who are interested in reading other things by me I have an omegaverse story planned featuring UKFr (cause that's how I roll), AmeCan/CanAme, Spamano and AusPruHun. Which would be going really well if I could only decide what kind of job I want to give Arthur. I want it to be sort of office-y cause I want Francis and Arthur to meet at work, but I have no idea what I really want them to be doing. Any ideas, lovely readers?**

**... If you aren't interested in other things I'm writing, the updating of the other fanfic will not interfear with the update schedule of this one, so you may continue to enjoy this masterpiece, prodject... thing.**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Give thanks to the awesome beta Sora Resi**

**.**

"You two can go back to whatever you were doing before I interfered."

Interfered? Arthur had collapsed and then had been rushed to the hospital, and he says that he interfered? With what? What could possibly be more important in Francis' life than ensuring the safety of his fellow man? Especially someone like Arthur, whom he had known for centuries? Francis took a few breaths to try and calm himself as a wave of panic surged over him and threatened to once again bring him down. Gilbert shot him a concerned look before responding.

"Look, what happens after this is up for discussion, but now that you are awake you need to talk to the doctor and Francis and I have been practically ordered to stay here until that happens, so you're stuck with us."

At this Arthur ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back, before glaring at the carpet.

"Stupid," he muttered. "I'm fine."

"Arthur..." Francis started, concerned, but Gilbert stopped him with a sharp hand gesture. Still, Arthur's head jerked up sharply, anger burning in his eyes.

"What? What the fuck could you possible want, France? What more could you possibly take away from me?" Too late, Francis realised that he has used Arthur's human name, unknowingly angering the man who hadn't ever given him permission to use the more familiar term.

"England, sorry, I—"

"Oh, now I get an apology?" Francis bit his tongue as Arthur's eyes darkened. Wrong move. The man's entire demeanour changed. The sunken eyes and painfully skinny body of the hospital patient shifted from meek to sharp and angular. Dangerous. Francis could see the rage and hate burning in his eyes, reminiscent of his pirate days and yet somehow more formidable. More terrifying.

Because even though the rage was twice as strong, Francis got the impression that all the anger wasn't directed at him. The eyes were angry, but at the same time… cold. Pirate Arthur was terrifying, but he never even tried to hide any of his emotions, or keep them contained. He was volatile yes; but you could read him like an open book.

This Arthur, while being just as angry, was contained. The pressure of the anger was building, but the container wasn't letting any of it escape.

When pressure builds in an enclosed space, sooner or later something is going to explode.

Francis swallowed hard.

"After all the shit we've been through, now I get an apology? Pha! No, the only thing you're sorry for is getting stuck in here with me."

Francis really did want to protest that it wasn't what he had meant; that there were things he was sorry for, things he wished he could apologise for, but pride and circumstance got in the way. This was not a conversation he really wanted to have with Arthur, especially when the man appeared to want to tear his guts out, so he held his silence.

It cost him though, for the scoff Arthur gave at Francis' silence made the burden of guilt sink just that little bit lower.

"E-hem?" The doctor knocked on the slightly ajar door. "Am I interrupting something?" Arthur quickly settled down, diverting his eyes from Francis, choosing to stare at the floor instead.

"It's alright. You can come in." Arthur's voice was once again quiet.

The doctor approached, shutting the door behind him, and taking a chair across from the Englishman.

"Alright, so Arthur. Can I call you Arthur?" The man in question was looking down at his hands again, winding a loose thread from the blanket around and around his finger.

"It's fine." It sounded forced. The doctor pursed his lips, but continued.

"Well Arthur, you've been unconscious for approximately thirty six hours, if the story these two gentlemen have told me is correct. We have found a significant number of—"

"Just tell me what happened!" Arthur's exclamation made Francis and Gilbert jump, but the doctor seemed to expect it. He sighed before nodding.

"You've got mould trying to grow in your lungs." There was a sudden change. Arthur's expression changed from one of anger and defence to one of terror. The glint in his eyes seemed to melt away, and Francis was left again with the image of the cornered predator.

"I've got what?" Arthur's voice was trembling.

"The good new is as long as you don't go back to the same environment and get exposed to more mould, it isn't fatal. The bad news is you're going to be on medication for a long while before this problem will be entirely solved." Arthur was scared. Francis could tell this, and yet it wasn't quite the same terror as before. Even though he was terrified, he seemed to be making an effort to keep his breathing under control.

"It's not fatal. It's not fatal. Okay. Okay. Not fatal is good. I can do not fatal." Arthur continued to repeat this for a few moments as he started to process the information. The doctor waited patiently, and seemed satisfied with Arthur's lack of total emotional breakdown. Francis knew better though. If Arthur was going to break down at all, it was going to be somewhere that no one could see him.

"So… medication?" He asked after a moment.

"We are still running a few final tests, but you'll have a combination of treatments. You'll be given several prescriptions in the form of pills which will need to be taken daily, as well as another prescription in the form an inhaler, to be taken if a situation arises."

"Alright. Alright. I can do that." Arthur's breathing was almost back to normal, and while he still seemed a bit shaken up he was - relatively - calm.

"This is the serious part. If you go back to the place where the mould first got into your system the risk of serious infection greatly increases. Do you have any idea where you might have been exposed? A dubious friend's house or bad workplace?" Arthur nodded slowly.

"My house… Upstairs… It's my…" He trailed off awkwardly. The doctor nodded slowly.

"Then I'm going to recommend that you find alternate accommodation for the present."

"You're preventing me from going home?"

"Not preventing, no. If you are determined to go, then go. But know that the longer you expose yourself, the more you put your own health at risk."

"Fine." Arthur slumped. "How soon can I get released?"

"As soon as I get the test results back and know exactly what to prescribe you, which should be shortly. There is, however, another issue that needs to be addressed."

"What?" The darkness was back in Arthur's voice.

"To be frank, if I didn't know you were the immortal representative of England, you wouldn't be leaving the hospital for the next few months. Your weight is far below healthy and you have a large build up of mild alcohol poisoning compromising your immune system, which is the reason your body was so susceptible to the mould in the first place." Arthur's attention visibly shifted from the doctor in the room to the nations in the room.

"You told them?!" He howled.

"It was necessary information. He had to know!" Gilbert snapped. Arthur growled, crossing his arms, but said nothing further. The doctor was silent for a moment.

"You will be seeing a therapist." Arthur froze. His fists clenched and unclenched, and his jaw tightened. However, there was no anger in his stance, instead there was a deep… sadness?

"What gives you the right," Arthur demanded, his voice was slow, and angry despite the slight tremble, "to demand that I do anything?" The doctor tensed.

"Given the physical evidence, I have a few concerns about—"

"There's nothing wrong with me!" Arthur exploded; rage suddenly forcing its way to the surface. "There's nothing wrong with me! I've got problems, but they are under control and its fine, and I'm fine. I'm fine!" Francis flinched at the outburst, Arthur's rapidly changing emotions making him unpredictable. He seemed so defensive. Francis knew that when Arthur was offered a helping hand his knee jerk reaction was to kick hard and run, but this wasn't a battlefield. They were all friends here… weren't they?

Weren't they?

"Prove it." Francis' attention was suddenly pulled to the doctor. What was he thinking? Arthur spluttered for a moment, his anger once again contained.

"How?"

"Simple. As you can now no longer go to your own accommodations, you need to stay somewhere else. If you are so blatantly refusing even a preliminary session—"

"I am," Arthur snapped.

"Then I request that you spend the next month rooming with these two men."

"What?"

"Think of it as a trial period. If by the end of the month you can convince the two of them that you do not require any professional help, then I will push no further." Arthur seemed to be mulling the decision over: eyes flicking from the doctor's face, to the faces of France and Prussia, to the floor, the far door, and back again.

"Okay," he whispered. "Okay."

.

**A/N: Alright. Well I'm proud to say that the prologue of the UKFr story I mentioned last week has been posted and is titled Worth the Risk. *shamelessly advertises self* So if the concept appealed to any of you, go check it out. :)**

**Can Arthur survive a month with Gilbert and Francis?**

**...**

**Also I don't really care that most doctor's probably wouldn't say that. It was just too good of an idea to not write.**

**~RosemaryBagels**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Give thanks to the awesome beta Sora Resi!**

Francis watched Arthur carefully as the doctor went over the three kinds of pill he would need to take; when he would need to take them, establishing that he was not to have any alcohol while taking a small blue pill, and to not eat grapefruit when taking one of the larger white ones. Francis filed the information away, making a reminder to himself to watch what his friend was eating. The doctor also gave Arthur several vitamin and zinc pills, the like which he didn't have to take, but was recommended to do so daily.

Francis would have expected Arthur to be annoyed with the ridiculous quantity of medication, but after the emotional roller coaster earlier he just seemed withdrawn. There wasn't any bite to his words anymore.

After the doctor was certain that Arthur knew how to use the inhaler, and the circumstances in which he should use it, the three of them trudged outside to Francis' car.

.

The ride back to Francis' apartment was awkward, Gilbert noted with a hint of disdain. From the back seat it was hard to get an impression of what was going on between the two up front, but Gilbert knew that the only reason Francis had insisted on driving was so that he could focus and not stare at Arthur. Arthur himself seemed oblivious to the attention he was receiving from the back seat, only moving to turn one of the pill bottles over and over in his hands. Gilbert was desperate to know what was going on in the man's head, but the silence seemed… unbreakable. In a disturbingly sacred kind of way.

Bringing up those kinds of topics was probably going to bring out negative emotions in the Brit, and while Gilbert was pretty sure he could restrain Arthur if necessary, he really didn't want to do so in the car.

So the silence prevailed.

But still it was awkward.

And it was still awkward when the three of them walked up the four flights of stairs to get to Francis' apartment floor. And it was still awkward when Francis showed Arthur to a guest bedroom where his temporary home base would be. It was even more awkward when Francis gave Arthur a stack of his own clothes, telling him to get changed so that Francis could wash his old ones, because Arthur just stood there mutely, holding the pile of clothes and not really moving at all, until Francis excused himself to go make the three of them some light food.

Gilbert sat unobtrusively on the couch at the far side of the room, giving Arthur the illusion of privacy while still keeping an eye on him from afar. He watched with curiosity as Arthur lifted the pile of clothes to his face, inhaling the scent. That was kind of weird, but then again Arthur had just been pulled away from the life he knew and told he had mould growing in his lungs. Any small comfort was to be appreciated.

Gilbert watched as Arthur slowly shuffled into the bedroom, closing the door behind him. There was a bit of rustling, and it took a little while but eventually Arthur emerged from the room looking slightly better than he had before. He ended up curling up on a chair in the same room as Gilbert, hunched over with his knees to his chest, but he was sitting there, calmly. For once his eyes weren't darting around the room trying to calculate how close he was to an exit and how long it would take him to get there.

Arthur seemed reluctant to acknowledge Gilbert's existence, a feat which usually would have bothered the albino no end, but in this case he was willing to let the blonde get away with it. He looked cold. Gilbert was tempted to go find a blanket and drape it over the Brit's shoulders, but he was afraid that the man might lash out and destroy this temporary peace they seemed to have found.

When Francis entered the room, balancing three bowls of soup on his arms, Gilbert tensed, ready to intervene if the other man reacted badly. Arthur simply turned his head slowly, moving his legs to make room for the bowl which he nestled there. He picked up the spoon; holding it up to his face and turning it, as if make sure that it actually existed. Eventually seeming satisfied with the state of the spoon, he turned his attention to his food and began to eat.

Only after making sure that Arthur was taken care of did Francis and Gilbert turn their attention to their own food, which given Francis being the cook was probably fantastic, but to Gilbert it might as well have been tasteless because he had other, more important things on his mind. Arthur appeared to be in some form of shock, and as understandable as it was, Gilbert was worried about what state Arthur would be in when he came back to reality.

If it were up to him, he would have just left Arthur there and waited to see what happened, but Francis had other plans. He ended up kneeling in front Arthur's chair, the man in question turning his head to avoid making eye contact. Francis gently coaxed the man back to looking at him.

"Arthur," He murmured, keeping his voice soft, "For the time being I was thinking it would be best if you didn't take on your countries responsibilities. I want to call Scotland and have him stand in for you to go to meetings, sign documents and do whatever else is necessary, but I need to ask you first. Is this okay?"

Gilbert watched carefully as Arthur seemed to ponder over the question before nodding slowly.

"Okay," Gilbert winced, because Arthur's voice sounded like his throat was filled with ash. Francis nodded and pushed the hair out of his face.

"You should take a shower, and then get some sleep." Arthur, seemingly on auto pilot, stood slowly and exited the room in the direction of the bathroom. Both men stared after him, wondering if he was going to be okay.

"Do you think that counts as consent to call Scotland?" Gilbert asked after a moment.

"No," Francis responded, "But I had to say something."

.

Arthur felt confusion soak further into his bones as the warm water poured down over his head. Why? Why were they doing this? They should be kicking him while he was down, Goddamit not… not…

Arthur couldn't make himself think the word. There was no salvation for him. He was no damsel that could be saved; he was long gone, long past the point of no return. He was a dead man walking, absolutely worthless, he knew this so why, why, why?

Why did his heart feel so warm when they…

But it was false. It was all false. They had to have an ulterior motive. Someone at the hospital was bribing them, else they were trying different techniques to get him to crack faster just so they could get him out of the apartment. There was no way that they actually wanted to…

After all he was ugly.

He was old, grumpy, stupid, uncaring, heartless…

He didn't deserve…

Anywhere else he would have screamed out loud, slammed himself against walls and pulled sharp objects through his skin just to make a physical mark of his worthlessness, his damnation.

But this was Francis' house, and Francis' things and Arthur didn't have the right… didn't have the right to…

Be here. Touch anything. This was the house of the absolutely perfect, completely angelic, god of a man, and Arthur, scum of the earth was tainting this place just by being here.

So why was he still here?

Why hadn't they kicked him out yet, or at least made it obvious that he was unwanted?

Why?

That was the only thought in his mind as he shut off the water, and dried himself off. The kind faces that Prussia and France gave him as he walked into the room they had let him stay in was even more confusing.

Were they actually going to let him…?

No. No. They just wanted to make him comfortable so their rejection would hurt more when it actually happened. Well fuck them too, Arthur thought.

_I'll make sure they can never touch me._

_._

**A/N: Yes, I know I am being a touch melodramatic with the description on Arthur's part, but I did do that deliberately. And, when I get around to explaining why he feels the way he does, you can tell me if this is too melodramatic.**

**~RosemaryBagels out!**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: OMGIAMSOSORRYDON'TKILLME!**

**Yeah... this is painfully late. Feel free to throw abuse in my general direction. Just read the chapter first.**

**...**

**And thank Sora Resi for correcting all my stupid typos.**

Things started out tense the next morning. Gilbert ended up being the first one awake, his old military training kicking in now that he was in a perpetual state of almost panic once again.

The grandfather clock sat ticking on the far side of the living room, where Gilbert had slept on the couch. A long - but quiet - debate had taken place between the Frenchman and Prussian, and had ended with the compromise that they would each take turns between sleeping in the real bed and sleeping on the couch, situated just outside Arthur's room.

Gilbert had argued tooth and nail to stay there tonight so that he could keep an ear out for Arthur, just in case he got up in the night and did something stupid. And that in itself was a puzzle, because Gilbert usually laughed at people doing stupid things. He could easily realise that this was no laughing matter, but still. Something was off.

Gilbert wasn't sure if the ticking of the clock being the only sound he could hear from within the apartment was okay with him. The quiet ticking proved that both the other residents in the house were still asleep, still okay and safe, and the distant hum of cars from below proved that the world was still turning.

Gilbert allowed himself to stand and walked across the living, through the kitchen, and out onto the small balcony leaning over the small side street. The air was chilled, but there wasn't much of a breeze as the first rays of sunlight began to make their presence known over the horizon.

A car passed in the streets below, and Gilbert followed it with his eyes until it rounded a corner and vanished from view.

What was he doing? He was staying here and helping Francis take care of Arthur, that much was obvious. Whatever happened, the albino knew he would be here, simply because Francis asked him to be. Francis was one of his best, oldest, and only friends, and Gilbert was pretty sure that he would do just about anything for him. But why did he care so much? Somewhere, between the phone call, the attic, and the spats in the hospital, Gilbert had come to care for Arthur's wellbeing too.

It wasn't just about Francis anymore.

And that was stupid, because Gilbert didn't even like Arthur. He'd seen what the pirate version of the man had done to Antonio, had every reason to hate the man, and yet…

And yet.

That was the very thing. Gilbert didn't. He couldn't. Arthur was a nation, and therefore capable of holding his own and protecting his people. But he was also a person.

Somewhere along the line Gilbert had forgotten that people were vulnerable.

Who was he to judge present Arthur by the standards that had defined them hundreds of years ago? Why did those actions even matter now?

The albino could say for a fact that he hadn't bothered to get to know any new version of Arthur that might have been presented as his culture adapted and changed, because Gilbert himself was stuck in the past. And Gilbert was willing to bet that no other nation had tried to, either.

Even one experience can be enough to change a person, and the Englishman would have had thousands. There was absolutely no way that he was the exact same person that Gilbert could remember being so cruel centuries ago.

Was that why Gilbert felt so attached? Because he felt guilty?

There was a ring of truth to that. But the thought of getting attached to someone just because they needed someone there beside them, of using their need for friendship, just to fill the void to be wanted - to be needed - made Gilbert feel like some form of leech, attracted to those with misery, just so he could suck their remaining happiness away.

There was a grain of truth in that, but Gilbert didn't want it to be the truth.

Because Arthur, a man who'd just had his entire life ripped out from under his feet, deserved better.

There was a grain of truth in the wrong kind of sentiment, but the albino reckoned that he had an entire field in which to plant, and he would make sure that the other flowers grew up strong.

For now, he liked Arthur because Francis liked Arthur, and he wanted to see him well as a fellow nation should wish to any other being who shared in the cursed gift of immortality. And for now, it didn't have to get any more complicated than that.

.

The apartment was silent as Francis walked into the kitchen to begin his morning ritual. The balcony door was open, so that was where he assumed Gilbert had gone off to, and there was no sound echoing from Arthur's room.

Six thirty might have been a little early for him, but he had no doubt that he would get plenty of sleepless nights wondering what was going on in Arthur's head, and there really wasn't much point in staring at the ceiling for hours while his thoughts simply ran in circles. So he got up. And having nothing much else to do at six thirty, he began making breakfast.

The routine of cracking eggs, chopping vegetables and working over the stove helped calm him a little, and Gilbert's quiet presence in the kitchen as he silently made his way inside did so even more.

Francis spared a moment of thought to wonder about his albino friend. He was well aware that Gilbert would do pretty much anything for him, the Frenchman being knowing full well that he was one of the few people who made an effort to keep in contact with the fallen country, and vice versa. Francis wasn't too sure what Gilbert thought of Arthur, but he knew his friend disliked… sappiness. He preferred to lick his wounds alone, and often disliked public displays of emotional dependence.

Francis would never hold it against his friend; he knew that the hardness was simply a defence mechanism formed against the grief that came from outliving his human comrades. But, to borrow a phrase, he really didn't think this would be Gilbert's cup of tea.

But he had stayed.

And Francis silently thanked him for that.

Francis was dragged away from his thoughts by sound echoing from Arthur's room. He and Gilbert shot each other a look as they sat as quietly as possible and listened to the rustling that signalled Arthur's arousal from slumber.

Francis had just finished cooking the omelettes and Gilbert had got up to boil water for coffee when Arthur entered the room.

His sunken eyes looked around the kitchen, frowning as though the lights were too bright, and as though all its inhabitants were encroaching on his personal space.

"I made omelettes, if you're hungry." Francis' voice was quiet, as if he was afraid to breach the silence of the kitchen. Arthur's only response was to grab an empty glass and fill it with water from the tap.

"I'm not hungry."

Francis frowned at the Englishman's defensive tone.

"Are you sure? There's enough for—"

"I'm not hungry." Arthur's harsh tone left no room for discussion. He left to go and find his bag of prescription pills before returning, sitting at the kitchen table and slowly counting out his daily dose.

Francis watched, with a cold pit of emotion forming in his stomach, as he watched Arthur try to sustain himself with the contents of a pill bottle, and then he was remembering that horrible room of things that used to be important, but was now just a vehicle for the wave of destruction to make it's way through the house. The disease that was the decomposition of stuff spreading through everything, tainting everything in Arthur's house and making it inedible, and then trying to take more by infecting the Brit, trying to find purchase in which to grow within the man in front of him.

"You should eat something," he whispered.

"I'm not eating that," Arthur growled, giving the food on the table a glare, as if it had somehow wronged him in a past life.

"Then what would you eat?" Gilbert's voice was sharp. "Cause we have other shit to do today, and we aren't leaving until you get some food in you."

Francis felt a bit of relief when Arthur gave Gilbert a dark look, before reluctantly pulling a plate towards himself.

First thing on the to do list: get Arthur to eat food, check. Next up… clothes shopping.

.

**A/N: Yeah, lame ending is lame, but stuff needed to happen.**

**...**

**Okay. Why was this so painfully late? Well I could say exams and homework, but seeing as I never study and I at least try to stay on top of my homework load they really aren't good excuses.**

**In all actuality... I was reading Star Trek fanfiction. One cannot stop reading Star Trek to write Hetalia.**

**Don't worry though. You guys aren't getting rid of me for so easily. I've had a record nine month obsession with Hetalia, and I make a commitment to finish what I start. Even if it takes forever, I will get this finished.**

**So on the positive side of things, as of today I'm done exams and therefore all school, so YAY! MORE FREE TIME! **

**Unfortunately in approximately a week I am flying cross Atlantic to go enjoy the benefits of Europe for a few weeks. And while I can guarantee I'll get lots of inspiration over there, I have no idea how much time i'll have for writing, not if I'll have an internet connection to upload it, so I may be on hiatus for like, seven weeks. Yeah. You have been warned.**

**~RosemaryBagels.**


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